I practically strangle him with a hug. I put my lips against his ear. “Good luck,” I whisper.
“Thanks.” He looks like his usual confident self as he walks to the stage. I feel like such a rock star’s girlfriend.
Maggie comes running over to me. “Oh my god!” She grabs my arm. “Chad is snorting Kool-Aid through a straw. You gotta come see!”
“I think I’ll pass on that one.”
Everyone starts cramming in front of the stage. I pull Maggie to the front. I want Tobey to be able to see me.
When Fred and Zack start playing, the bass is so strong I feel every beat of it shake my bones. The crowd moves like we’re all one big entity. It’s a total blast. I’ve never wanted to come to Battle of the Bands before. Now I’m stoked that I’m here.
But while MindFlame is tuning up, Dave starts a commotion with his people in back of us. I glare at him. He doesn’t see me.
“What?” Maggie says.
I point at Dave. He’s got the rest of the beautiful people all around him. They’re obviously planning something.
“He’s such an ass,” Maggie says.
And he’s going to feel like even more of an ass when MindFlame wins. He just better not throw anything at them.
“Give it up for MindFlame!” Eddie yells. I’m relieved when there’s a decent amount of applause.
Josh clicks his drumsticks together. Tobey sees me and smiles. I smile back. They sound great. They sound even better than they did in practice this week. I love how Tobey’s arm muscles look when he plays. And how he gets this really serious expression, like he’s concentrating so hard.
Near the end of the song, Tobey and Josh do this jam thing that sounds supercool. I feel all special, knowing the behind-the-scenes truth to what they’re playing. How they practiced certain parts over and over. How hard it is for Mike and Tobey to harmonize on one line of the vocals. The part where Tobey always thinks he’s going to mess up but never does. I’m so proud of him.
Then I hear this loud cough. Or someone gagging. But it’s not just one person. To hear that over the music, it had to have been a lot of people together. Like something synchronized.
Like something stupid Dave would do. And get his people to do with him.
I hear it again. Other kids laugh. It’s the kind of suggestive cough you hear in class when someone is making fun of someone else. Usually there’s a word under the cough, like “loser” or “homo” or “asshole.” It’s disguised as a cough so the teacher won’t get it.
They keep coughing. And there’s more laughing. A lot of people are supporting the interruption. There’s none of those harsh
shhhh!
sounds you hear when people want someone to shut up so they can hear. Just laughing. And some conversations are starting.
It’s a total disaster area.
I look up at Tobey, expecting him to be noticing everything. But he either can’t hear what’s happening or he doesn’t care. He’s playing with his eyes closed. I can tell he’s completely focused on the music. All three of them are.
When the song is over, no one claps. Everyone just stands there like they’re waiting for something else to happen. Maggie and I clap really loud. Other people join in. It doesn’t sound like they mean it, though.
“Dave’s a child,” Maggie says. “You got out just in time.”
“Seriously.”
She points at the stage. Tobey is pulling his guitar strap over his head. “Could he
be
any hotter?”
“Not so much, no.”
The guys go backstage. I don’t know if Tobey’s coming out or not.
“Wanna try to get backstage?” Maggie asks.
“Yeah.”
As we’re pushing past people, I overhear conversations about Tobey’s band.
“How queer was that?”
“They suck so bad.”
“Do any of you know what the hell that was? Did they write that?”
“Probably.”
“They are
so
coming in last.”
“Even Marco is better than that shit.”
I push past people harder.
“Josh is such a spaz.”
“Seriously. Was he playing the drums or having an epileptic fit?”
“Both.”
I turn around to see who’s talking. I almost die when I see that it’s Joe Zedepski and Robert Garten.
Things are worse than I thought. I just have to convince Tobey that they’re not.
“I always miss the good stuff,” Laila says. We’re in Maggie’s living room. I’ve seen airport terminals smaller than this.
“Don’t worry.” Maggie sits down next to her on the couch. “I’m about to fill you in on all the details.”
“But they came in last? How is that possible?”
“I’m getting snacks,” I announce.
“Can you bring the Sun Chips?” Maggie says.
“And is there Crunch ’n Munch?” Laila asks Maggie.
“Yeah,” Maggie says.
“That, too,” Laila tells me. “Oh and P.S.? I am in dire need of more coffee. Industrial strength.”
“But we’re going to sleep soon,” I say.
“I know.” Laila shudders. “Addiction is a bitch.”
I go into Maggie’s humongous kitchen. The coffee Laila made before smells really good. I take out the snacks and get bowls to empty them into. I kind of wish I was with Tobey right now, making him feel better. I lean against the counter and think about him.
When I finally go back to the living room, I put in the movie we rented. We got
crazy/beautiful
since it has Jay Hernandez, and it was Laila’s turn to pick. He’s her main man. Which means next time we get to watch
The Good Girl
with Jake.
I turn on the huge flat-screen TV. An old
All in the Family
is on.
“Oooh!” I yell. “Can we watch this?”
“What are you on?” Laila says.
“I’m on life!” I dissolve in a fit of giggles.
“Now you need to chill.” Maggie throws a pillow at me. “Okay. Truth. Do you guys think Josh is cute?”
I immediately stop laughing. “What?”
“Josh? Cute? Yes or no?”
“In which solar system?” Laila says.
“Where’s this coming from?” I ask.
“I was just thinking. . . . You know when I was dancing with him? He’s looking better these days. Not as nerdy as before.”
I arrange the floor pillows into two big piles in front of the TV. “Josh was never a nerd.”
“You said he was a geek.”
“Right. But definitely not a nerd.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I’ve explained this to you before. A geek is like a dork. Someone who’s on the fringe, who you wouldn’t want to hang out with. A nerd is someone too weird and smart to fit in with the masses. Like me.”
“You’re not a nerd!”
“It’s okay. I know who I am. I consider it a compliment. I like when people tell me I’m weird.” I cram four Cheez Doodles into my mouth. “I mean, why be normal? ”
“Okay, fine.” Maggie licks fake orange cheese product from her fingers. “So he’s looking less geeky.”
“Do you think he’s cute?” Laila looks at Maggie.
“Sort of.” Maggie looks at the floor.
I’m totally shocked. “Ew! He’s, like, the epitome of immature!”
“Get out!” Maggie yells. “I don’t mean for me! No, I was thinking about fixing him up with Brenda.”
I’m like, “Since when do you know Brenda?”
“Since we got put together for that history project. She’s cool.”
“Yeah, right,” Laila says. “You are so hot for Josh!”
“Uh, well, no,” Maggie says. “It’s for Brenda?”
I can’t decide which piece of information is more astounding: Maggie thinking a geek like Josh is cute or Maggie thinking a punk like Brenda is cool. It must be the full moon.
“I can’t believe you thought I liked him,” Maggie huffs.
“Jeez.”
“That’s why I was like . . . ” I make a repulsed face.
“These high-school boys are too immature for me,” Maggie announces. “I’m only dating college guys from now on. Guys my age don’t know how to handle me!”
“You’re too hot to handle.” I press my finger against Maggie’s arm and then pull it away quickly. “Ouch! Too hot to touch!” I make a sizzling noise. “Stand back!”
“Well, stand back unless your name is Rick.”
“Oh, yeah!” I say. “What’s the progress in Lovaville?”
“Much improved. He’s incredible. He’s such a good kisser. Among other things.”
“Like what?”
“Huh?”
“Like what other things?”
“Whatever.” She shrugs. “Anything I want.”
“Are you going to sleep with him?” Laila eyes Maggie.
“Probably.”
I say, “But you’ve only been going out for, like—”
“So what? We’re not twelve anymore. I’m eighteen. I’m supposed to be an adult now. What’s the big deal?”
“Since when is having sex not a big deal?” I say.
“I’m not exactly a virgin. Anyway. Don’t you feel like you want to sleep with Tobey?”
“Maybe.”
“Then you’re not ready. You’ll know it when you are.”
Laila goes, “Okay, Miss After-School Special.”
I put the movie on and get back into my pillow piles.
Halfway through the movie, we pause it for a bathroom-slash-beverage-refill break. Maggie’s upstairs talking to her mom. She told me how her mom’s been spending a lot of time in bed lately. I could never just go talk to my mom like that. Or even ask her if something’s wrong. It would feel way too uncomfortable.
I look at Laila. “Maggie told you how Dave sabotaged Tobey’s band?”
“Yeah. It’s classic acting-out. He’s still hurt.”
“About me dumping him?”
“Yeah.”
“Like he even cared.”
“Of course he cared! He got dumped. You think he can’t feel it?”
“Please. Like I ever knew what he really felt. He was probably fantasizing about every girl on the cheer-leader squad while he was telling me how much he wanted to sleep with me.”
“Some people just don’t know how to act.”
“I can’t believe I ever wanted them to like me! Uuuuhh!” I smother my face with a pillow.
“So you were going through a phase. It’s over.”
I come up for air. “How shallow is that?”
“No regrets,” Laila tells me. “You found something real.”
“Will you quit saying that?”
“You know you love it.”
She’s right. Laila’s always right.
CHAPTER 32
one of those talks
november 29, 4:51 p.m.
“Try not to highlight so much, though,” she says.
We’re in my room. I spent three hours cleaning it yesterday so Sara wouldn’t find out what a slob I am.
So far today, she helped me make a schedule of everything I have to do. She says I’m all cute with my day planner. I also asked her for help with my essays. She seems into it. Which rocks, because now we finally have something substantial in common. Besides the million other little things that make me feel so comfortable around her.
Now she’s demonstrating study skills.
“But this whole section looks important,” I say. “And using the highlighter is fun.”
“Yeah, but you should only be selecting the key ideas.”
“This whole section looks key.”
We’re doing study sessions at my house twice a week. Sara’s trying to be patient. I’m sure this is much harder than she thought it would be. My study habits have sucked since freshman year. It’s so hard to change, even when you want to. But I promised her I would try. And so far I’ve been getting all A’s.
My parents aren’t home. It’s hard to focus on this stuff when the knowledge that my parents aren’t home is draining my power of concentration.
“It looks like it,” Sara says, "but it’s not.”
“What parts would you highlight?”
Sara picks up the neon orange highlighter. Her chair scrapes against the floor as she slides it closer to mine. We huddle together over the history book on my desk.
“Maybe just . . .” She slowly swipes the highlighter over a sentence. “And . . .” She highlights another one. It’s all the same to me. It’s like she has this knack for knowing exactly what every teacher wants. Was I zoning out when they explained how to do this in third grade?
“I hate history,” I say.
“Same here,” she says.
“You do?”
“Totally.”
“Then why do you care so much?”
“This stuff doesn’t matter. What matters is what you do with it.” Sara snaps the highlighter cap on. "I try not to think about how boring it is. I just keep reminding myself about how I want my life to be and what I have to do to get there. Then it’s simple.”
She is way determined to succeed. My goals haven’t inspired the same amount of motivation for me. But now I have some reasons to quit slacking. A few kids came up to me after the Battle and said they liked MindFlame, but it’s obvious that most people think we suck. So the band’s not exactly going anywhere at the moment. And now I really want Manhattan Music Academy to take me. But mostly, there’s Sara.
After an hour of reading and trying to restrict my highlighting addiction to key concepts, I couldn’t be more exhausted. A nap would be good right about now. But Sara’s over on my bed, tearing through a pile of physics handouts like I’m going to give her a pop quiz any second. She looks so sexy leaning back against my pillows like that. Mike always laughs that I have so many pillows. He’s always joking about,
Where are the stuffed animals?
But he doesn’t get it. Girls love my pillows. They make the bed more inviting.
And my parents still aren’t home.
I go over and sit on my bed. Sara sorts the pile of paper into smaller piles.
“When do we get a break?” I ask.
“According to our contractual agreement,” Sara says, “break time doesn’t happen until you’re done with your homework for at least one subject.”
“I’m done.”
“With what?”
“History.”
“You were still on history?”